Closing Time
by Diva In The House
Summary: House/OFC. Bartenders and their patrons have a unique relationship...especially when that patron is House.
1. Chapter 1

**Just a one-shot that I originally posted on the Fox forum. I don't own the guy on the barstool, or anything else related to House.**

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The bell rings over the door, and she immediately recognizes his silhouette as he limps in. _Right on time_, she thinks to herself as she pours him a bourbon and sets it on a napkin as he eases onto his barstool.

"Wow, it's like you know me or something." He snarks as he takes his first sip, closing his eyes as the liquid burns pleasantly down his throat.

"Should by now." She answers with a twisted smile. "You've only been coming in here three times a week for the last six months."

"My own personal stalker. Goody."

She smirks and turns away to take care of another customer at the opposite end of the bar, and he observes her movements as he slowly sips his bourbon. He watches as she leans on the countertop, casually chatting with the younger man for a moment before she turns away to clean up a few glasses and take care of empty beer bottles.

Two more young men enter the bar and take stools not far down from where he sits, still sipping and observing. She sets a second drink in front of him before moving down to take drink orders from the most recent arrivals. They're young, most likely college kids blowing off steam after a tough week of classes by the tone of their conversation. _If only they knew_, he thinks to himself as he listens to them moan about their class loads and their professors. _They don't know how good they have it._

The bartender catches his eye as she sets the two beers down, and she shoots him a vaguely amused look. She wonders how long it will be before he starts grumbling and rolling his eyes at the admittedly lightweight tale of woe the two young men are telling each other.

As it turns out, it's about thirty seconds. "My _God_." He speaks, sitting up fully for the first time since he sat down that evening. "Your life sounds so hopelessly _difficult_. Hate to see how you would handle a _real_ problem."

"Like you'd know." The first student turns toward the voice, taking in the graying hair and rough face. "You ever go to college?"

He rolls his eyes. "Kind of had to before they'd let me into med school."

"Yeah, right." The student snorts and returns to his beer and his conversation with his friend. The man next to him looked more like a bum than a doctor. He couldn't imagine who would allow him to practice medicine looking like that. He drains his beer and waves the bottle. "Hey, honey. Can I get some service here?"

She wanders back, casually snatching up the empty bottle and replacing it with a fresh one, setting it on the counter with a hard _thump_. He glares at her, muttering something about her resemblance to a female dog as he takes a long drink of his beer.

At first, she appears to have not heard him. Suddenly she pauses and turns, planting herself directly in front of him, placing her palms on the countertop and meeting his eyes with a small smile. "Hey, you just demanded _service_. You didn't say what kind. Be a little more specific next time..._honey_."

His friend barely chokes back a snort, and looks contrite when he receives a scathing look. The young man finishes his second beer, slamming the bottle to the table. "Excuse me, _sweetheart_. May I _please_ have another?"

She serves another bourbon to the other man seated at the bar before taking the empty bottle. She can hear him grumbling to his friend as she pulls another bottle from the refrigerator. "That's bullshit, man. She must have the hots for the old guy."

His friend rolls his eyes, but attempts to humor him. "Okay, I'll bite. Why do you say that?"

"Didn't you see? He didn't even ask for another drink. She just...gave it to him." He raises his voice. "Hey, what's _that _guy got that I don't?"

Her lips quirk in amusement as she sets the beer down in front of him. "Like you even have to ask? You're so damn smart, _college boy_, figure it out yourself."

He looks offended, and rises from the barstool. "I don't have to take this. I'm out of here." His friend looks apologetic as he stands to follow him out to the seating area.

"Suit yourself." She shrugs and wipes down the counter. In a quieter voice she mutters, "Asshole."

"Guess that's one less tip you'll be getting." The baritone voice snaps her out of her thoughts.

"If one tip makes me or breaks me, I'm in deeper shit than I thought." She laughs as she turns to toss the towel in with the rest of the dirty towels. "College boys don't tip much anyway."

His lips twist in something like a smile as he continues to nurse his drink, steadily watching as she continues to serve throughout the night, chuckling as he hears her giving as good as she gets. It's part of the reason he started coming in here regularly. She's bold, sassy, and smart, and leaves him the hell alone for the most part. Occasionally she'll stop to chat a little between customers, throwing him a knowing look that is just between them, acknowledging that odd bond between bartender and regular patron.

Almost every man that approaches the bar makes some attempt to hit on her, and he has to shake his head at the fallen faces that are the inevitable result of her rejection of them. She makes it clear that she's here to do a job, not flirt with the customers as many of the waitresses do. He's curious, just a little. No rings adorn her fingers, and she seems like one who doesn't have ties to anyone in particular. He wonders if she prefers the other team, and lets that image roll around in his brain for a minute before finally shaking it off.

She rings the bell, loudly bellowing, "Last call for alcohol! You don't have to go home, but you've got to get the hell out of here!" He shakes his head when she looks his way, and she nods in understanding before serving the others seated at the bar. She moves quickly, smoothly, as if it's a choreographed routine. In many ways, it is. Same routine, different night. Everyone's trying to get as much alcohol in them as humanly possible before stumbling out into the night, returning to their dorms, their apartments, their real lives.

The bar is finally quiet as the last customers leave, and she sighs as she wipes down the counter, nearly forgetting her last customer.

She smiles as she approaches him, taking his empty glass and disposing of the napkin. "Last call rule applies to you, too. Don't you have somewhere to be?"

He shrugs, intertwining his long fingers and glancing at the counter. "If I did, do you think I'd be _here_?"

It hits her in that moment, a moment that's been six months in coming, and she's surprised that it hasn't dawned on her sooner. The old guy's lonely. The revelation sends a pang of sadness through her, though she tries to hide it. She gets the feeling that he doesn't want pity, but she's not sure what else he could want, either.

He glances up just long enough to see the sympathetic look briefly cross her face. "Don't worry. I'm not going to bore you with my whining about my miserable fucking life."

She leans on the counter, looking into his eyes for the first time. In the now brighter light of the bar, they shine a bright, startling blue, a stark contrast to his rugged features that are covered with a light growth of stubble. He's really quite the handsome man, and she can't believe she didn't notice before.

A frown starts to appear, and he looks away, clearly uncomfortable. "Not really in the mood for a staring contest."

"Sorry." She backs off, a little embarrassed that she invaded his space. The silence seems to stretch out between them, and she can feel his eyes on her as she cleans up the place. She huffs a little and starts to turn around. "If you've got something to say..."

The bell over the door rings before she can finish the sentence, and she looks up just in time to see him disappear. She observes him as he mounts his motorcycle just outside, his head dropping ever so slightly before he slams the helmet over his head, kickstarting the bike and pulling away.

She sighs as she finishes cleaning up and closes down the place for the night, and she can't help thinking that there is more to her regular customer than she realized. Did she miss his signals, buried so deeply in his snark and sarcasm? She wasn't sure, but something in her wanted to find out. Hopefully he would be back at his regular time. Suddenly she realizes that she looks forward to seeing him again. He's one of the few customers that doesn't try to hit on her, and he seems to enjoy her snappy comebacks.

She laughs as she locks up the bar and heads for home. Maybe they're both hiding. From what, she's not quite sure. Somehow, it seems like something worth investigating. Maybe, just maybe, next time he comes in, she can explore that possibility a little further. Maybe they can find a way to be a little less lonely...together.

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**While this is intended to be a one-shot, I might expand it if there's interest. Read and review. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Expanding this because I can't leave well enough alone. I still don't own the blue-eyed guy.**

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He doesn't come back when she expects him to, and his usual barstool sits empty as spring turns to summer and the college crowd disappears. She wonders whatever happened to him, but by the time a month has passed, she's back into her comfortable routine, the rough older man with the incredible blue eyes pushed to the back of her mind.

Summer soon turns to autumn and the place starts filling again with students and their conversations of class loads, the hotness of the incoming freshman class, and football. She wonders what he would have to say about all this, and allows herself a small smile.

She hasn't thought about him in ages, and is surprised to find that she sort of misses him and his acerbic commentary. Most of all, she misses his company at the end of the night as she's closing up. In the six months or so that he was here, he didn't talk much. He was simply _there_, and somehow it was an odd comfort. She had become so used to working alone after closing that his presence was a bit disconcerting at first.

It's some Monday night in October, and the place is crowded with football fans, who are alternately cheering and groaning over the action. She doesn't even notice when he comes in and finds his spot at the end of the bar. She's too busy trying to keep up with business at the bar.

She turns to fill someone's beer and sees him sitting there, fingers folded together, a thoughtful expression on his face. He looks different, somehow, and it's not just the shorter hair and slightly thicker beard.

After pouring the beer, she fills a glass with bourbon and ice and sets it on a napkin in front of him. "Hey, stranger." She teases gently. "Long time no see."

He smiles back ever so slightly, lifting his glass in silent salute before taking a drink. He looks softer, somehow, not as haggard as he did on his last visit here. Maybe the night wouldn't end with some poor college kid getting the sharp end of his tongue. She doesn't count on that, though.

The football game ends, and the bar slowly starts to clear out. A few night owls linger, and one of them attempts to engage the older man in conversation. The guy's already had a few too many, and clearly has no idea what he's up against as he moves closer.

The older man fixes him with a sharp glare, which does nothing to stop the other man's drunken ramblings. Finally he sighs heavily and shakes his head. "Is there anything in my body language that would indicate that I am the _slightest_ bit interested in what you have to say?"

The other man looks baffled. "I was just making conversation, man. No need to get all bent out of shape." He nods towards the bartender. "Pretty hot, ain't she?"

The older man shrugs and takes a sip of his bourbon. "I guess."

"Yeah." The drunk pauses. "I'd do her in a heartbeat."

"And I'm sure she'd let let you."

The other man's eyes light up. "You think so?"

The older man snorts and glares again. "_No._ And you're a moron if you think otherwise."

"You're just jealous." The drunk grumbles and drains his glass, slamming it to the bar. "Hey, sweetheart! Hook me up!"

"Oh yeah, you're irresistible now." The older man murmurs into his bourbon. "She's totally throwing herself at you."

The bartender catches his comment as she picks up his glass and replaces it with a fresh one, snorting softly as she passes on her way to take care of the drunk. "Don't you think you've had enough?"

"_I'll _tell you when I've had enough, sweetie." He thumps his fist on the bar, muttering to himself. "No bitch is going to tell _me_ my limits. If I wanted to hear that, I would have stayed home."

The older man smirks as he takes a long drink of his bourbon. "You really know how to charm the ladies."

"Fuck you, man." The other man shoots him an angry look. "Like you'd have half a chance with her."

The older man goes oddly quiet, his expression becoming somber. Finally he shrugs indifferently. "Doesn't matter. I'm not here to pick up chicks."

"Good thing." The other man chuckles, pleased to have found a sore spot. "Because you _suck_ at it."

The older man has a response ready, but the bartender intervenes just before he lets loose. "Hey, hey, hey. Leave him alone. He hasn't done a damn thing to you." She swipes his empty glass. "I'm cutting you off. You want me to call you a cab, or are you going to do that yourself?"

He looks oddly defeated as he shakes his head, digging his phone out of his pocket and waving it at the bartender. "I'll call her myself." He punches in the numbers and waits for the other end to pick up. "Hey, Rita, baby...can you come get me?" He winces as the shouting rings out clearly in the quiet bar. "I know, I know...I'm sorry. I'll be right out front...I love you."

He tosses cash in various denominations on the bar, hopping down from his stool and weaving toward the door. "Keep the change..."

The bell rings as he opens the door and stumbles out into the night. The bartender shakes her head as she picks up the cash and counts it out. "As usual, barely enough to cover the tab. Keep the change, my ass."

The older man smirks as he plays with his glass. "Guess I'll have to leave you an extra large one to make up for it."

"No need for that." She smiles gently before nodding at his glass. "You want one more?"

"Nope." He answers. "Still got to drive home."

She nods in understanding before ringing the bell and giving her last call shout. Being a weeknight, there isn't a rush of orders, and she easily takes care of them before starting to clean up the bar.

Before long, the place is nearly empty again, save for the man at the end of the bar. He's still toying with his glass, looking oddly contemplative.

"You done with that?" Her voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and he nods, releasing it as she swoops in and gracefully takes it from in front of him.

His eyes follow her movements as she cleans up. She _is _a lovely woman, her thick blonde ponytail bobbing up and down as she works, and he can't help but admire how her jeans and long sleeved t-shirt fit her slightly rounded body. Her casual outfit highlights her figure as opposed to boldly advertising it.

The drunk was right. He's not exactly smooth when it comes to the opposite sex. But then again, that's not why he's here. He's just here to escape the demands of his everyday life, to find a place where he can relax and blend into the woodwork. If he happens to admire the scenery while he's here, well...that's just a nice bonus.

"So where have you been?" She asks him as she wipes down the bar. "Haven't seen you all summer."

"I've been...busy." He answers slowly. He decides that she doesn't need to know the gory details.

She nods and they fall silent, she returning to her shutdown routine while his eyes wander all around the bar, falling upon an old upright piano in the corner of the room. "Hey." He calls out, gesturing with his head toward the instrument. "Anyone ever play that thing?"

"Sometimes a guy comes in on Saturday nights, but that's about it."

"Mind if I..." He looks almost hopeful.

"No, of course not." She quickly replies. "Go for it."

He hops off the barstool, grabbing his cane and limping heavily over to the piano, and soon she hears him playing a few chords as she moves to the kitchen.

"When was the last time you had this thing tuned?!" She suppresses a small smile as he hollers in something almost like outrage. "No wonder no one plays the damn thing!"

The cook is just finishing his own shutdown of the kitchen area when he hears the other man's words. He shakes his head and regards the bartender with an amused look. "Better be careful there. Sounds like you've got a live one on your hands."

"It's fine." She laughs in response as she slices an onion and mixes up some batter. "He seems pretty harmless."

He frowns at her as she batters the onions and drops them in a fryer. "You're going to clean that up, right?"

"Always do." She answers. "Go on, get out of here. See you tomorrow."

He nods, retreating to the office for his jacket before returning to give her a quick squeeze around the shoulders. "Don't hesitate to kick him out if he gives you any grief, okay?"

She squeezes him in return. "Don't worry so much. I'm a big girl. I can handle things."

He leaves through the back door, leaving her alone in the kitchen. She can faintly hear the older man playing as she pulls the onion rings out of the fryer and lightly salts them before making her way back out to the bar.

She leans on the bar top for a moment, taking a bite of the perfectly fried onion while she listens to him play. He ends his song, turning his head in her direction with a curious expression. "You going to share those?"

"Share what?" She mumbles around a crispy mouthful.

He turns around completely then, a slow grin playing around his lips as he pushes himself off the bench and limps back to the bar. As he takes a seat, he picks an onion ring out of the pile and pops it in his mouth, crunching thoughtfully before nodding in approval. "Perfect."

"Why, thank you." She smiles in slightly teasing fashion. "But what about the onion rings?"

His rough face breaks into a full smile then, changing his entire demeanor. "Hot...and tasty." He tilts his head slightly, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "Are we still talking about the onion rings? I'm a little confused."

She can't help but emit a girlish giggle. The old guy's flirting with her, and it feels kind of good. They continue eating and chatting, teasing each other, and she can feel herself start to relax a little around him. It's a variation on the usual bartender/patron relationship, to be sure, but it's enjoyable nevertheless.

They both grab the last onion ring, and they freeze a little. He pulls back, waving his hand casually. "Take it. Cook's treat."

"We'll split it." She decides, tearing it in two and handing one piece to him.

He takes it from her tiny, graceful hand, holding it while she pops her piece in her mouth and eats it. When she finishes, he holds the piece of fried onion up. "Open your mouth."

She obediently does so, and he delicately places it in her mouth, feeling her lips brush against his fingers as she closes it around the onion ring. She fixes him with a scolding expression as she chews and swallows. "I told you we'd share it."

A serious expression crosses his face just then, his bright blue eyes boring into her. "I think we just did."

Something clutches at her as she takes in the moment that has transpired between them. She's not sure how far he wants things to go, and he's already looking vaguely uncomfortable at his own boldness.

His phone starts singing 'Dancing Queen', breaking the tension between them. He sighs and flips it open. "What?" He rolls his eyes as he listens to the voice on the other end. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm on my way." He looks annoyed as the voice continues. "God, don't worry about it. I'm not _drunk_. When did you become my mother? Just go to bed."

He snaps his phone closed and shoves it back in his pocket, shaking his head. "Guess I'd better go."

She smirks in amusement. "Girlfriend or wife?"

"Neither." He answers as he rises from his stool and grabs his cane. "Overly concerned best friend and roommate." He takes his leather jacket from a nearby hook and tugs it on, the scent wafting over the bar. "Thanks for sharing your...fried goodness."

"Anytime." She replies, sweeping the crumbs onto the plate. "See you around."

He nods and limps toward the door, pushing it open and disappearing into the night. Her mind is still going over their exchange over the plate of onion rings, and she thinks there's a possibility that they've bonded just a little.

She finds herself even more curious about the rough blue-eyed man that has popped back into her bar. Hopefully this wasn't a one-time occurrence. She wouldn't mind sharing more than a few onion rings with the man, and the thought catches her off guard.

_Plenty of time for that another night_, she decides as she closes up the place and heads for home. She hopes there will be another night as she settles into bed and closes her eyes.

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**You know what to do from here. Read and review. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**You know the drill by now. Don't own the guy with the cane. Never have, never will.**

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He doesn't return for a few days, and she admits to herself that she's a little worried. While it's probably nothing, she would hate to see him disappear again for another extended length of time.

Her worry dissipates when he wanders in again on Friday night, giving her a slight nod as he finds his stool and she sets his bourbon in front of him. She moves on down the bar, taking care of her usual Friday night crowds, teasing and joking with some of the regulars.

He can't help but smile a little as he listens to her verbally spar with the customers, bringing to mind their private conversation over onion rings just a few nights before. He swears he can still feel her lips on his fingers, and when he got home that night, he was in no hurry to wash off the lipstick that was smeared there.

He shakes his head at his silliness, and yet he can't help but be a little fascinated by her. She's not a kid, clearly, but she is significantly younger than him. For now he decides that's not a problem. All he knows is that he very much enjoyed her company, and wouldn't mind hanging out with her again.

She doesn't seem bothered by his presence either, judging by the way she doesn't shove him out the door after closing. He's not sure if that means anything, and considers that perhaps he's reading just a little too much into things.

He hasn't told anyone about her, including his best friend. When he did finally make it home the last time he was here, he made up some outrageous story just to get him off his back. His friend reacted in his customary way, shaking his head and mumbling something before returning to bed.

A shadow near the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he turns his head slightly to see a woman occupying the stool next to him. He ignores her and returns to his drink, listening to the activity around him. Someone fires up the jukebox. It's a slow song, some classic number, and a few couples float out onto the small dance floor.

"Hey." The woman next to him is trying to get his attention. "You want to dance?"

He turns his head to appraise her, taking her in from head to toe. She was pretty once upon a time, two marriages and two divorces ago, sometime before she fell into the barfly lifestyle. Now she looks as rough as he feels, trying valiantly to cover it up with bad makeup and worse hair color.

He waves his cane halfheartedly. "I don't dance much."

She grins, and it makes her look a little less pathetic. "It's a slow dance. No need to 'bust a move', as the kids say."

He frowns skeptically. "Why me?"

She shrugs in response. "Does it matter? I'm single, you're single. No harm in one dance." Privately, she likes his rough-hewn look, and now that she's gotten a good look at him, he really is a handsome man. She wonders what the hell he's doing here by himself before deciding it doesn't really matter.

The bartender has made her way down the bar, picking up on the thread of the conversation. She gives him a meaningful look. "She kind of has a point."

"Who asked you?" He scowls at her before draining the last of his bourbon.

"No one." She laughs softly. "Just throwing in my two cents. Now go dance. Your stool's not going anywhere."

He huffs in annoyance and hops down from the stool, glaring at both women. He hands off his cane to the bartender and follows the other woman out to the dance floor.

The old Eric Clapton chestnut is still playing as she draws in close and wraps her arms around him, placing her head on his chest. He responds in kind, glancing down at the top of her head, noting the gray roots that are just beginning to show in the dark brown.

He sighs to himself as they sway back and forth. It's about all he can manage with the bum leg anymore, and the thought fills him with sadness. So this is what his life has become. He had hoped for better when he left that institution, but so far it doesn't seem to be working out that way.

The song ends, and she looks up at him with a hopeful expression. "There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

It wasn't that bad, but it wasn't that great, either. He's not sure how to answer her. "It was okay, I guess."

She laughs a little and gives him a quick hug. A couple more drinks, a couple more dances, and maybe she'd be able to convince him that he didn't have to be alone tonight.

She leads him back to the bar, and she continues to flirt with him, touching his hand and caressing it lightly. By the end of the night, she thinks she's pretty close to wearing him down. She tries not to think about how sad and pathetic that sounds.

She sidles up to him and slips an arm around his waist. "Hey, what say we take care of the tab and find somewhere a little more private, hm?"

He smiles and chuckles, shaking his head. "By that, you mean _I_ should take care of it." It's not a question.

She dips her head, lifting her eyes and meeting his slight smile with a shy one of her own. It's a game, and they both know it. "It would be the...gentlemanly thing to do."

"Well, far be it for me to be anything less than a gentleman." He intones, waving a hand to get the bartender's attention. "Put her drinks on my tab. I'll take my cane back, too."

For a moment, he thinks she looks vaguely disappointed as she hands his cane over the bar. Their fingers brush against each other as the cane changes hands, and he feels a little something rush through him.

Suddenly a flash of guilt rises in him, but he quickly squelches it as he signs the receipt and shoves it back to the bartender. "See you around."

"Have a good night." The bartender responds as she watches the pair leave the bar. She sees this countless times a night, but this feels different. She chides herself for her thoughts. He's a grown man, and she has no claim on him. A plate of onion rings and a conversation don't mean that much.

Outside the bar, the couple walks in silence, and the woman can't help but wonder what is on his mind. She tries to engage him in conversation, but he only responds in short, one-word answers.

They arrive at her apartment not far from the bar, and she stops to wrap her arms around his waist, lifting her chin to look into those remarkably blue eyes. He stares down at her, but merely leans on his cane, not reaching out to touch her in any way.

Something has changed since they left the bar, but she can't quite put her finger on it. She ignores the doubts that creep up in her, drawing him down to her and pressing her lips against his.

He responds, but not nearly as enthusiastically as she thought he would, and she considers abandoning this entire farce. But it's been far too long since she's felt a man's touch, and she's determined to renew his earlier interest in her.

The kiss becomes almost desperate on her part, and she's almost angry at his lack of response. Finally he pulls back with a short sigh, and she steps away from him. She's never felt more alone than she has in this moment, and somehow she knows she's gotten as far as she will with him tonight.

"I..." He starts slowly, not sure what to say to her. A myriad of emotions go through him, and his eyes drop to the sidewalk as he thumps his cane on the concrete.

"It's okay." She speaks a little too quickly, her tone flat, her disappointment obvious. "It's late. I should go."

"Right." He wants to tell her he's sorry, that he didn't mean to lead her on, that it wasn't a half-bad evening up until now. It's all bullshit, though, and they both know it.

He stays long enough to make sure she safely makes it into her apartment, trying to ignore the tears that begin to leak out of the corners of her eyes as she slams the door behind her. He can't help but feel like a damned fool, and he can't understand what stopped him this time. Any other time and he would be in that apartment right now, letting the anonymous woman give him the physical pleasures that seem like the only thing he's capable of feeling anymore.

Something has changed in his time away, and he's not sure what. It's a thought that occupies him until he finds himself in front of the bar again. He checks his watch. It's ten minutes to two, and while he knows last call has passed, the place should still be open.

He leans on his cane and stares through the window. The place is nearly empty save for a few that always have to linger until the bartender kicks them out, and she's starting to go through her now familiar shutdown routine.

She lifts her head when she hears the bell, and she's surprised to see him back at all. "I'm done serving, you know."

"I know." He answers, easing himself onto the stool, ignoring the couple that still occupies the bar. Something twists painfully in him as he listens to them flirt and joke with each other, their affection obvious. He could have had something like that tonight, but he chose to leave it behind in favor of...in favor of what? He doesn't know.

"Okay, lovebirds. Get a room." She teases the couple as she presents the man with their receipt. He signs it with a laugh and pushes it back to her.

"See you around, girlie." The man pats her hand affectionately as he carefully climbs down from the stool, offering a hand down to his lady friend.

"Take care." The bartender answers, taking the receipt and sticking it in the cash register with the rest, returning to take care of their glasses and wipe down the bar.

A silence falls over the bar as she cleans up, and she glances over to see him apparently staring off into space. His long fingers are tented, touching his lips, and as she gets closer, she realizes that he's not merely staring into space. The man is deep in thought, and she almost hates to disturb him.

"Are you hungry?" She's not sure why she asks the question, except that it seems like the polite thing to do. She's starving after the busy night, and she was just about to fix herself a burger and some onion rings before he walked in.

He seems to snap out of his reverie, shaking his head. "I...guess. What's on the menu tonight?"

She smiles warmly, tucking the bar towel in her back pocket. "Just burgers and onion rings."

"Works for me."

She disappears around the corner to what he assumes is the kitchen, and he decides to limp back over to the piano. He smiles a little to himself as he starts playing. Obviously someone heeded his advice about tuning it, and while it's not exactly a rich sound, it sounds much better than it did the last time he touched it.

He closes his eyes and loses himself in his music, pushing his encounter with the other woman out of his mind. For some reason this feels more satisfying, and he doesn't bother to think about why.

Not much later, she emerges from the kitchen with two plates in her hand, not the least bit surprised to see him at the piano. His body moves in rhythm to the music he plays, and she doesn't want to interrupt him. Quite the contrary. She could watch him play all night. Not only does he have remarkable skill, but his passion for the instrument is obvious. She wonders, just for a moment, if this passion spills over to other areas of his life. Judging by how quickly he returned from his earlier encounter, she thinks not.

He seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to food, and he stops playing, a small grin playing around his lips. "Were you going to tell me that food was on?"

She grins back, leaning on the bar top. "Figured I'd let your nose lead you."

"Smart woman." He slides onto the stool and takes one of the plates. "Got anything to drink?"

She sighs playfully and takes two cans of Coke out of the small refrigerator behind her, setting one can next to his plate with a thump. "Anything else, your Majesty?"

"Nope, that'll do." He snorts and digs into his meal, and they eat in comfortable silence. He eyes her plate, watching and waiting for an opening. In one lightning quick move, he reaches out to steal an onion ring.

"Hey!" She responds in mock outrage. "You've got your own. You don't need mine."

"Yours look better." He answers, popping the whole thing in his mouth and crunching while waggling his eyebrows at her. She can't help but laugh at him, and wonders why he didn't bother to use this charm on the lady from earlier.

They finish the meal, and she takes the plates to the kitchen, busying herself with clean up. For some reason he gets the urge to go check out the jukebox. He's in an experimental mood, and he wonders how she'll respond.

She emerges just as he pushes the button for the same Eric Clapton song that was playing earlier, and she tilts her head in curiosity. "Interesting choice."

He jerks his head in response. "It's a good song."

"I've always thought so." She rounds the end of the bar and crosses the room. He seems frozen at the jukebox, unsure of his next move.

"You must hear it all the time." He keeps talking, trying to keep from losing his nerve. "Don't you get sick of it?"

"Mmm...sometimes when I've heard it for the tenth time in a night." She reaches out to him, and he rests his cane against the jukebox before taking her hand and limping toward her.

She pulls him close, wrapping her arms around his waist while keeping just a little distance between them. He tentatively places his hands around her waist in return, noting how his large hands nearly span her tiny waist.

Their bodies aren't pressed together, and yet he feels something that he didn't feel with the other woman, despite her blatant attempts at seducing him. He dares to pull her closer, slipping his hands to the small of her back as she rests her head against his chest.

She's slightly taller than the other woman, coming almost to his chin. If he bent his head down ever so slightly, he could kiss the top of her head if he really wanted to. Instead, he takes in the soft scent of her shampoo while he wraps his arms a little tighter around her, one hand moving closer to the middle of her back.

There's nothing inherently sexual about this dance. It just feels...right, somehow, and he's at a loss as to why. He tries not to analyze the moment to death for once, tries to just enjoy it, but it's difficult at best. His obsessively analytical side threatens to take over, and he can feel his body tensing in response to the battle that wages inside his mind.

"Relax." She murmurs, gently rubbing his back. "It's just one dance."

She feels him relax a little, and he lets out a short sigh as he sets his chin on top of her head. "We're seriously screwing up the whole bartender/barfly relationship, you know."

"I won't tell if you won't." She answers softly, taking in his distinctly masculine scent.

"Deal." He responds quietly, lightly stroking her head, fumbling around with the elastic that holds her thick blonde hair in place.

Her hair cascades down, falling just past her shoulders, a fresh wave of scent wafting into his nostrils. The whole experience is overwhelming, and he closes his eyes, letting the scents and sounds wash over him, and dear God, he doesn't want this to end.

Eventually, the song ends, and they slowly back away from each other, still holding on as they do so. He moves one hand to the back of her neck, lightly stroking her jaw, and she feels as if he's staring straight into her soul with those brilliant blue eyes.

He seems to debate with himself, finally shaking his head and pulling away, reaching for his cane before heading toward the door. His hand is on the handle, and he pauses before he leaves, turning his head ever so slightly.

"Thank you. You know, for...everything." He looks up briefly, a melancholy expression on his face as his eyes meet hers.

She nods, vaguely disappointed, but only vaguely. "Have a good night."

He glances around, seemingly deep in thought before nodding firmly and pushing through the door, the jingle of the bell the only sound. She feels a pang of sadness for him, knowing that she could have given him the push he needed.

Somehow she gets the feeling he wasn't just after sex. If that were the case, he would have left with the other woman and not come back. He's trying for something more, she thinks, something more than a mere physical connection.

She decides to step back and let him figure things out for himself. If nothing else, perhaps they can continue to enjoy each other's company. She likes the idea of that, more than anything else.

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**Back to you, dear readers. Read and review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Kind of got on a roll with this one. Still don't own the guy on the stool.**

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He stumbles in late one night about a week later, looking more haggard than usual, almost as bad as he did all those months ago. She shoots him a concerned look as she serves him, but otherwise doesn't say anything as she cleans up a few glasses.

He sighs heavily, and she turns to see him leaning his chin on his hand, supported by his elbow. It's a slow night, and the few patrons in the bar are hanging out around the pool table. She takes the opportunity to lean on the bar top near him.

He feels her eyes on him, and he glances up to see her soft eyes staring him down, an unreadable expression crossing her face. "Look, I know you bartenders are supposed to be the sympathetic type, but...I don't need any."

"Are you sure?" She asks gently, her voice tinged with concern.

"Yep." He snaps, drinking down half his bourbon in one shot. "Now get out of here before you _really_ start overstepping your boundaries."

She nods and turns away, wondering if he was making a reference to their shared dance. If he hadn't so thoroughly pushed her away, she might have asked further. Instead she simply goes about her business, taking a few drink orders from the lone waitress working, casually chatting with her while they check out the guys at the pool table.

She rolls her eyes as the waitress walks away, not nearly as enamored of the guys as the waitress is. Then again, the waitress is young, and she remembers chasing after everything in sight at her age. At this stage of her life, she's become much choosier.

She glances down at the end of the bar, where the blue-eyed near-stranger sits hunched over an empty glass. Even in his haggard state, he beats out the drunken yahoos surrounding the pool table by a mile. She slips in, switching out his empty glass for a full one, and he nods vaguely in gratitude.

There's a squeak and a rumble of group laughter near the pool table, and both of them turn their heads. The group of young men are surrounding the waitress, and she's clearly displeased with the attention. She returns to the bar, slamming her tray on the bar. "Men are disgusting pigs." She declares.

"Get used to it, hon." The bartender laughs as she takes the empty pitcher and glasses. She looks around the waitress with a sharp glare. "Don't even think about it. I'll put you out on your ass so fast your head will spin."

The young man looks startled, freezing just before he grabs the waitress's rear. His buddies howl in laughter behind him, and the bartender can see the redness creeping into his cheeks. She's embarrassed him in front of his friends, and someone's going to pay. She's going to have to watch him carefully.

She spots the man at the end of the bar, noticing his amused reaction to the altercation. "Something funny?"

He shakes his head, sipping at his bourbon. "Just interested in seeing your ninja Mama Bear act in action. Lucy Liu wouldn't have shit on you."

She laughs softly as she loads the fresh pitcher on the tray and sends the waitress back out. "Hopefully you won't have to see it."

He raises his eyebrows, his eyes going wide with feigned innocence. "Would you do that to me?"

"If I had to, yes." She moves back toward him, leaning on the bar to meet his eyes. "I would hope I would never have to."

He blinks, then shifts his eyes away. She has pushed her boundaries again, with expected results. He simply sips at his bourbon, hoping she moves on, sort of. Ever since their dance, she's been on his mind, and he doesn't know what to do.

The sudden chaos behind him snaps him out of his reverie, and before he can hop off his stool, the bartender is already rounding the end of the bar, running toward the source of the noise with a baseball bat.

He observes from a safe distance as she jumps directly into the melee, swinging threateningly with the bat, bellowing at the top of her lungs. The small crowd disperses, staggering toward the door.

"Not you." She speaks sharply to the one who's been ordering the beer all night. "Someone's got to cover the tab."

He towers over her, the only one of the group not intimidated by her. "And if I don't?"

"You'll have to deal with the mad drunk cripple." She hears his voice behind him, can feel him towering over her. "I swing a pretty mean cane."

His tone is casual, and as she turns to look at him, his posture could be taken for such as well if one wasn't paying attention. In reality, he's tense, ready for whatever might happen, his long fingers curled around the handle of his cane.

The young man seems to weigh his options, finally pulling a wad of cash out of his pocket and tossing it on the table. "You're both crazy." He sneers. "Your pool table sucks, and your waitress isn't that cute anyway."

She throws him a smug smile and picks up the cash. "Thank you for your patronage."

The bell rings loudly as the young man flings the door open, and she can hear him bragging to his buddies about how he told the bitch off. She blows out a long puff of air and turns to return to the bar, walking right into her back-up.

He glares down at her, studying her. It's more than a little disconcerting, and she wishes he would just say something already. "Do you mind? I've got a bar to close down."

"That was fucking stupid." His tone is harsh as he frowns down at her.

She rolls her eyes and deftly moves around him, placing the baseball bat in its designated place behind the bar. "It's nothing I haven't done before."

"It's still idiotic." He insists. "And dangerous. What the hell were you thinking, swinging that thing at that bunch of gorillas?"

She places both hands on the bar and faces him squarely. "It's not that big a deal. Drop it."

"I will for a plate of those onion rings." His eyes seem to soften a little, and she can't help but smile.

"You have a deal, sir." She pushes herself off the bar and disappears into the kitchen, and soon the smell of deep fried onion goodness fills the room. He finds it oddly comforting, this ritual they've developed, and he's glad he came in tonight after all. After losing his patient, he almost went straight home.

There's only one problem with that. Home isn't home right now. Home is a spare bedroom in his best friend's dead girlfriend's condo, a world removed from his leather couch, his piano, his...everything. This bar has rapidly become a decent substitute, and he's growing to like the bartender more and more.

Which leads him to his next problem. That damned dance has been on his mind all week, creeping into his thoughts at unexpected times, invading his dreams. It's crazy, he knows, but he genuinely doesn't quite know what to do next, if he should even do anything.

She returns with a steaming plate full of onion rings, placing it between them and picking one off the pile to offer to him. He leans forward and takes a bite, catching her by surprise. Her eyes go a little wide at first before she dissolves into girlish laughter.

They soon settle in, sharing the onion rings, chatting and laughing as they feed each other. He finds himself relaxing around her, enjoying her company and idle conversation.

A silence falls between them, and he picks up an onion ring, dragging it through the salt that has collected on the plate. She notices a somber expression take over his face, and she tilts her head in curiosity. "Something's up with you tonight."

He shrugs indifferently. "Tough last few days, that's all."

"Sorry to hear it."

"It comes with the territory." He finishes off the last onion ring, brushing off his hands and hopping off the stool in the direction of the piano. "Don't mind if I play, do you?"

"Never do." She continues cleaning up, listening as he plays. This time she recognizes the song, and it breaks her heart to hear it, even as she hums along with it.

She finishes and pulls two Cokes out of the refrigerator, rounding the end of the bar to join him at the piano. "Mind if I join you?"

He nods, moving into another song, one she doesn't quite recognize, but it has a sad feel to it. She can see the resignation in his face and his body, and she wants nothing more than to put an arm around his shoulders and comfort him somehow. She's not sure how he would take such a gesture, however, so she hangs back and listens to him play while she sips at her Coke.

He glances at her, waiting for her to make a move. When none is forthcoming, he speaks. "Do you play?"

"Once in a while." She answers. "I've been known to fill in for the Saturday night guy."

"Impressive." He nods in approval. "You pour drinks, play piano, and kick ass. Is there anything you can't do?"

She laughs as she takes over, starting an old Tori Amos song that she fell in love with years before. Soon she's lost in the song, singing in a soft alto. Even though the meaning of the lyrics are lost on him, the tone of her voice makes it clear that it's not a cheerful song. He thinks he hears her voice break on the last couple of lines, and she suddenly stops, unable or unwilling to finish.

"Sorry." She chokes, wiping a few errant tears. "It just...gets to me. I don't even know why I played it."

"So...we'll play something else." He quickly recovers, picking something a little more upbeat. While a part of him wants to reach for her, to tell her everything's okay, he knows better. More often than not, it's _not _okay. Which in an odd way, kind of makes it okay.

She moves closer as he plays, a slight smile returning to her face. He likes this much better, and he can't help smiling a bit at her in return. He finishes and she takes over, playing a Jane's Addiction song that works remarkably well for piano.

She finishes, and they simply sit in silence as the music echoes in the empty bar. It's getting past late, and she knows she should send him on his way and go home, but...she just wants the night to keep going. Reluctantly, she tells him, "I should close up. It's late, even by bar standards, and I'm sure you have somewhere to be tomorrow."

"Boss gave me the day off." He answers, looking her directly in the eyes. His steely gaze unnerves and thrills her as he leans a little closer. That unmistakably masculine scent drifts her way, and she can't help but be enticed it, just a little.

On the other hand, she likes things the way they are. She doesn't want to ruin it, and she's afraid that's exactly what will happen if she succumbs to what she's feeling right now.

His eyes search hers, looking for any clue that he should either stay or go. Quite frankly, he's not sure he shouldn't just push himself off this bench and limp as quickly as he can out that door. There's something between them, he knows that much. He just wishes he knew whether it was wise to push further.

He finally leans in toward her, hoping like hell that this tenuous connection that they've formed is what he thinks it is. She seems to freeze, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. "Hey now...I don't even know your name."

"I don't know yours either." He murmurs, moving a hand around her to rest on the piano bench. "Seems like we should after all this time."

She tries a different tack. "Aren't you worried about ruining our beautiful bartender/barfly relationship?"

"Not really." He lifts his bright blue eyes to meet hers, and she sees something more there. More than he was willing to show her even a week ago. "And it's Greg."

"Tricia." She whispers in return, closing her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Nice to meet you." He answers quietly, leaning in to gently touch his lips to hers. They're softer than she expects, even as his stubble scrapes slightly against her face.

It's a sweet kiss, almost chaste, and he pulls away, taking a deep breath. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but this is...right, somehow. He leans in again, one large hand gently wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling her in, and he's lost in the moment.

He presses his mouth to hers, teasing her lips apart with his tongue. Hers delicately darts out to meet his, slowly tangling with his, the taste of his bourbon and the Coke that followed sweet and warm on her tongue.

He's reveling in her gentleness, her soft tongue delicately playing around in his mouth, and he doesn't want it to stop here. He wants her, and he almost doesn't care where.

The thought catches him off guard, scares him. He suddenly pulls away, his eyes darting over her. She's more than a little confused. One minute they're practically making out, the next he looks as if he's going to run for the hills. She places a hand on his face, stroking his rough cheek. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He rasps out. It's obviously something, but he's not willing to share it. "I've got to go."

"Not so fast." She stops him with a hand over his before he can even rise from the bench. "What's going on?"

He sighs heavily, stroking her face. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

He looks thoughtful for a long moment, finally lifting his head to look her in the eyes. "You ever want something you shouldn't?"

"Sure." She shrugs. "Who hasn't?"

"That's...kind of where I am right now." He rises quickly from the bench, limping over to where his jacket hangs, removing it from the hook, and putting it on. "And now I've really got to go."

She doesn't even get a word out before he disappears again, leaving her huffing in frustration. In the silence of the bar, she wonders if they've crossed some line that they can't ever cross back over. It's a sad thought, but it's one she has to consider. Now she wonders if she'll ever see him again. It would be a shame if she didn't. He's really one hell of a kisser.

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**You know what to do. Read and review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Back again. Still don't own the guy with the cane. O/Cs, as always, belong to me.**

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He returns about a month later, on a busy Saturday night, even though he normally wouldn't. That damned kiss has been working at him, and he curses himself for chickening out before.

The place has a different feel tonight, and it's only when he sits at an empty stool that he figures out why. There's a live band in the corner where the piano is usually parked, and it's a guy tending bar instead of the woman he's gotten used to seeing...and dancing with...and kissing.

He groans internally as the guy barks at him for his drink order. He slams the bourbon down in front of him and moves on. So much for the friendly, ear-bending bartender stereotype. This guy obviously missed that memo.

Instead he chooses to turn and observe the room, watching the crowds swarm through the bar. The band's not half bad, playing classic rock cover tunes as the crowd sings along. It's every bit a neighborhood place tonight, and he starts to feel more comfortable as he blends in.

The band takes a break, and it's only then that he notices the woman seated at the piano, casually chatting with customers and bandmates. She looks different tonight, even though she's dressed in a slightly dressier version of jeans and a t-shirt. The shirt is a deep purple v-neck, just deep enough to arouse imagination without revealing everything, with long sleeves that she keeps pushing up as she talks.

She's cut her hair, too, and it hangs in a swinging pageboy just above her shoulders. The blonde still shines brightly, and he decides he likes it on her. It makes her more vibrant, if that was even possible.

He considers moving closer to the action, but the tables are rapidly filling, and he doesn't feel like trying to push his way through the crowd. His balance isn't as good as it could be, and he feels a little safer parking himself on that bar stool. Besides, the band is just returning from its set break and is warming up to start playing again.

He hears the familiar sound of the old piano, and he focuses on the woman as she starts to play. Her face is set in concentration as she kicks off the first song, and she's soon wrapped up in the music. She's clearly enjoying herself, moving rhythmically with the uptempo music, a slight smile lighting her face as she takes a brief solo.

"Good, ain't she?" The bartender's rough voice startles him.

"Yeah." He nods in agreement before finishing his bourbon.

"She's my sister, you know."

"Is that right?"

"Yep." The bartender studies him as he sets another bourbon in front of him. "We run the joint together."

So there was more to her than he knew. It didn't surprise him. "Good place you run here."

The bartender pauses as he wipes down the bar, leaning over to hiss at him. "She's a good woman. You hurt her, don't bother walking back in here."

He knows. _God, _he knows. It's why he was so reluctant to come back here after so much time. He's still not sure he should approach her, and he keeps putting it off, his time between bourbons growing shorter as the night wears on.

The band announces its last song, and she takes the lead, launching into the heartbreaking number she had played the last time he was here. She pours her heart and soul into the song, and the bar grows quiet as she continues, picking up the tempo ever so slightly as she nears the end, her voice rising above the piano and fading to a near whisper as she ends the song, the notes from the old piano dying out to nothing.

There's nothing but silence for a long moment before someone starts breaking into applause. The rest of the bar seems to follow suit, a few whoops and cheers interspersed in there.

The noise dies down as the band packs up and the bartender rings the bell signifying last call. He orders one more bourbon, swirling it in his glass as he considers his options.

"Hey, you." She's suddenly beside him, taking up residence on the stool next to him. "Where have you been hiding out?"

He rolls his eyes and smirks slightly. "You caught me. I've been cheating on you with another bartender. His name's Spike."

She laughs at his lame joke and takes a sip of her Coke. "Well, I'm glad you've seen the error of your ways. It's nice to see you again." That's an understatement. She had seen him sitting at the bar just before she and the band started their set, and she couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Playing a few songs with just him was one thing, but playing in public, in his presence? Quite another.

"You too." _More than nice_, he thinks, but doesn't say. He's oddly relieved that she came to him. He's not sure he would have had the nerve to do the same. Hell, he's not even sure he'll be able to stand up when it's time to go.

She crinkles her brow in worry. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He wasn't, and she probably knew it, too. "The bourbon's got a harder kick than usual, I guess."

She regards him somewhat skeptically. "Yeah, funny how that happens when you have twice as much as usual."

He feels his cheeks warm, and he's grateful for the darkness of the bar. That changes when the bartender suddenly flips the lights, and the remaining patrons scatter like roaches and drift out the door and into the night.

He starts to open his mouth and tell the guy on the stool to hit the road, but she shakes her head at him almost imperceptibly, subtly waving him away. It's only when she adds a sharp glare that he reluctantly moves on, going through the same shutdown ritual she normally performs.

"Come on." She lightly touches him on the shoulder, and he jumps just a little. "I'll drop you at home on my way."

He gives her a lopsided smile as he carefully slides down from the stool and grabs his cane. Good thing, too, because he's swaying just standing still. "Uh..."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, moving so that she's on his left side. "Come on." She almost sounds as if she's scolding him as she slides an arm around his waist and slings his arm over her shoulder. "I'm parked out back."

"'Kay." He mumbles, somewhat embarrassed at his current state. She's surprisingly strong, he notices as he leans rather heavily on her on their way out to her truck. She smells different, too, a soft vanilla blended with something deeper that he can't identify.

The scent lingers with him as he heaves himself into the truck and settles against the headrest. A fresh wave washes over him as she climbs in on the driver's side, buckles in, and starts the truck. She glances over at him, smiling a little when she sees him leaned against the headrest, eyes closed, a relaxed expression taking over his usually rough features.

"Hey." She lightly shakes his shoulder, and he slowly opens his eyes, blinking his way into something like alertness. "You've got an address, right?"

He rattles off a series of letters and numbers, and she pulls out of the parking lot in that general direction. She nudges him awake when they pull up in front of a familiar building.

Familiar, but wrong. He's baffled. He hasn't been here since he left it behind to enter the institution. He realizes that he must have given her the address out of habit, and curses softly to himself. He feels like a damned idiot, but he doesn't want to let her know that. Besides, it's a good excuse to check out the place.

There's only one problem with that. He won't have a way back to his friend's place afterward, and damned if he's going to call him to bail him out. He remembers what happened the last time he tried to do that.

He's so deep into his thoughts that he hasn't noticed that she's already climbed out of the truck and is on the passenger side, waiting for him. He reluctantly swings open the door and calculates just how the hell he's going to manage the trip down out of the truck.

She notices his discomfort and quickly moves in. "Come on, tough guy. I'll catch you."

He snorts at the idea, but eases his way down anyway. As promised, she's right there to support him as he wobbles slightly. He chalks it up to drunkenness as opposed to the disability as he stumbles along with her up the couple of steps leading to the building.

He fumbles around for his keys, surprised when she pushes a key into the lock first. "How the hell do you have a key?"

"I live here." She laughs. "Never knew you did, too."

He wracks his brain, trying to recall if he'd ever seen her when he lived here. "How long?"

"Just moved in about a month ago."

That explains it. He hasn't been here in at least three months. He half-follows her inside, attempting to turn right while she goes left. "Uh...my place is this way."

"Okay." She looks amused as she releases him, and he stumbles to his door, struggling slightly to get his key into the lock. "I'll just be on my way."

He stops before he turns his key completely, not really wanting her to go just yet. "You...don't have to. Unless you have to."

She tilts her head at him, trying to decipher his slurred words. Something's not quite right with this whole situation, but she can't quite put her finger on it. She's instantly suspicious. "This isn't really your place, is it?"

"It is." He insists, finally unlocking the door. "It's just been...a while since I've been here."

He opens the door, wrinkling his nose at the musty smell that has overtaken the place. He briefly flicks the switch, not the least bit surprised to find no power.

There's no point in staying here, he decides. Now he _really _feels like an idiot. She's still behind him as he closes the door and locks it again. He sighs in frustration and turns to her, leaning heavily on his cane.

He looks defeated and a little sad, and she wants to reach out to him. "Do you need a ride?"

"You don't have to..." He digs out his phone and waves it around. "I'll call a cab."

"What?!" She looks at him as if he's lost his mind. "Hello. I'm here, I'm offering, and I'm _free._"

"But not easy." He snorts and blushes slightly at his own joke, looking at the floor.

She can't help giggling herself. "Careful with that joke. It's an antique."

"So am I." He responds. "Therefore...we're a perfect match. Me and the joke, I mean."

He's suddenly flustered for no good reason. Of course she wouldn't think that the two of them were a perfect match. Although, who knows? Maybe they could be. The thought scares him a little, and he again chalks up the odd mix of feelings that are starting to rush through him to his current inebriated state.

She smiles at him a little as she closes the distance between them. "I'm sure you're nowhere near an antique." She places her hand on his scruffy cheek, and her scent drifts into his nostrils. He's intoxicated on a whole different level as a result. "I prefer the term 'classic'."

"Still means the same thing." He mutters, his heart pounding a little in his chest at her proximity.

"And what would that be?"

"_Old_." Far too old to be seen with this lovely, tough, and sweet creature that stands before him.

She snorts derisively and rolls her eyes. "I'm not exactly a kid myself. Don't know whether you've noticed."

He hadn't, in all honesty. All he had noticed was...everything else. He wanted to tell her, but his inebriated brain couldn't put a coherent thought together. All he could do was shake his head.

She lightly strokes his stubble before stepping back and turning toward her own apartment door. "I just need to go inside for a minute. Hold on."

She unlocks the door and steps inside, leaving the door slightly open. His curiosity starts to get the better of him, and he limps toward the door to poke his head inside.

She can hear the step-thump of his lumbering gait, and she turns her head to see him at her door. "You can come in if you want."

He steps in and closes the door behind him, leaning against it and glancing around the sparely furnished space. There are still a few boxes scattered around, evidence of her recent move. Something seems to be missing, and it takes him a few minutes to figure out what it might be. "No piano?"

Her face falls a little as she picks up her keys and her purse. "I had to move out in a hurry, so..." She shakes her head. "Never mind. Let's go."

"Not so fast." He murmurs as she approaches. "So you _did_ have one."

She looks up at him, and he can see her eyes turning shiny. "It doesn't matter. Now shove over so I can take you home. Maybe you can manage to give me the right address this time."

He knows she's only being snappish out of self-defense, but it still smarts. He steps aside and allows her to lead them out of the apartment and back out into the night.

It's a silent ride back to his friend's place, and he can feel the alcohol finally start to wear off, the throbbing headache signaling the crossover between inebriation and hangover. She pulls into the parking lot and parks in front of the building.

She doesn't look at him, slightly embarrassed at her earlier outburst. He's about to climb out of the truck when she suddenly speaks. "About earlier...I didn't mean to lash out at you."

He closes the door and shifts in the seat, shrugging as he does so. "I'm sure you didn't."

"It's just that..." She's not sure she should share something so personal with someone she barely knows. "I had to move out of my last place in a hurry on account of my ex-husband. There was a restraining order, but...those things are such a fucking joke."

He looks alarmed, and she's sure that she's told too much. She shakes her head. "I shouldn't have told you."

"Did he hurt you?"

"What?" His blunt question catches her off guard.

He rolls his eyes and huffs in exasperation. "Did he hurt you?"

"No. Just my piano. He destroyed it." She feels herself choking up, the tears threatening to spill over. "It was a Steinway baby grand. I saved up for _years_ to buy that thing, and he destroyed it in about five minutes." The tears do spill over then, and she's shaking from the emotion. She's sure she wouldn't be nearly so emotional if it weren't so damned late and she weren't so damned tired.

He's uncomfortable with the emotional display at first, but when he thinks about his own beloved piano, he thinks there's a possibility he might react similarly. Maybe not with tears, but with some other form of emotional expression.

He moves in a little closer, and she can smell the bourbon that still lingers on his breath. Oddly enough, it's not a turn-off. It seems to blend in with whatever other scents that float off him, creating a scent that is uniquely _him_.

She feels him slip an arm around her and pull her close to him, as close as he can with the center console separating them. His other arm wraps around her, lightly stroking her hair as she rests her head on his chest. She can hear his steady heartbeat, and she feels oddly comforted, even though he hasn't said a word.

She knows she should encourage him to go, voicing concerns that his friend will be looking for him, but she doesn't want this moment to end. His arms around her feel so warm, his heartbeat so soothing, and when she feels him kiss the top of her head, she wants to melt into him.

He pulls back ever so slightly, lifting her chin with one finger to look down at her. She seems calmer now, but still vulnerable. He traces her lips with his thumb, unsure what he should do next. He knows what he wants to do, but the conditions are far from ideal for _that_ right now.

He feels her lips press against his thumb, and it sends a surge of something through him, something powerful that he's been resisting for weeks.

He doesn't want to resist anymore. As he replaces his thumb with his lips, everything that he's been debating for weeks comes out in this one moment.

She responds as fiercely as he does, and they become a tangle of limbs and lips, losing themselves in the moment and each other, and in the back of his mind, he wonders why the hell he avoided her for so long.

They break apart with a soft sigh on her part, and she places a hand on his chest. "Sorry." She murmurs.

"For what?"

"For...crying over a damn piano."

"It's not the piano you're crying over." He answers softly, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

He's right, of course. It's not the piano itself, although that's certainly a big part of it. It's the idea that her ex could destroy something so deeply personal without a second thought, much like he destroyed their marriage. She nods furiously. "He _did_ hurt me."

He wants to tell her that he won't hurt her, that she's safe with him, but he doesn't want to promise something he's not sure he can deliver. Instead he simply offers, "I'm sorry."

"Me too." She pulls away from him then, wiping at her eyes with her thumb. "You should go. Wouldn't want your friend to worry."

"Right." He starts to climb out, pausing just before he steps down. "One more thing."

"What's that?"

He pulls out his keyring and turns it until one of the keys comes off, reaching across to press it into her hand. "This is the key to my place. I don't know when I'm going to be back, so...maybe you could go across the hall and check in every so often." She doesn't react at first, so he adds, "There's no power, but maybe you could go over during the day and play the piano. You know, just to keep it in tune."

She crinkles her brow in confusion. "Why me?"

He shrugs and hops down from the truck. "Because you know what it's worth."

Now she's stunned. He barely knows her, and yet he's entrusting her with what she's sure is his greatest possession. "I...don't know what to say."

"How about 'yes'?"

She laughs slightly, a wide smile lighting her face. He thinks it's a great look for her. "Yes. I'll do it, on one condition."

"And what would that be?"

She leans across the center console to look him in the eye. "That it won't be another month before you come in again."

A slow smile crosses his weathered features, making him look softer. "You've been keeping track."

She feels the heat rise in her cheeks, and she's grateful for the darkness that hides her blush. "Maybe."

They're both silent for a moment before he nods. "I'll come in Monday. You'd better have some of those onion rings ready for me."

"I will." She nods, finally daring to look up at him. "Good night."

"Good night." He answers softly, looking her over before turning and limping into the building.

His scent still lingers in her truck as she drives home, and as she enters the building, she pauses at her door, looking at the apartment across the hall. She considers going over there right now, but decides against it. It's later than usual, and she's worn out from everything tonight. Tomorrow will be a much better day, she decides.

# # #

**Back to you, readers. Read and review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Insert all the usual disclaimers and stuff. Only the O/Cs belong to me.**

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She watches the door almost every time the bell rings over the door. It's early yet, but she's still on the lookout for him.

The bar fills up at the Monday night football crowd wanders in, and she's soon caught up in the business of running the bar, joking with customers, filling the waitresses' trays, and yelling back and forth to her brother and the other guy running the kitchen.

Sometime during the third quarter, she's working her way down the bar when she spots him. She smiles widely and bellows through the small hole in the wall to the kitchen, "Need an order of onion rings, extra crunchy!"

Her brother peeks through the hole in the wall, spotting the guy making himself at home on the bar stool. He rolls his eyes, but proceeds with the special order anyway.

She fixes her brother with a sharp glare before turning to set a bourbon in front of the man on the bar stool. "Hey. Your onion rings should be right up."

He nods, a slight smile gracing his rough features before turning his attention to the football game. The smell of fried onions draw his attention away, and he turns back to greet whoever is serving them to him.

It's the bartender from Saturday night, the brother who had threatened him. He sets down the plate with a loud thump and an accompanying glare. "Stay away from her."

"Excuse me?" He throws her brother an incredulous look.

"You heard me." The brother snaps back. "She's been through enough lately. Leave her the hell alone."

She meets her brother as he returns to the kitchen. "What the hell did you say to him?!" She hisses, looking around him to see the man at the bar hunched over his plate, sipping at his bourbon as he works his way through the onion rings. He seems to be oblivious to the activity going on around him, but she knows he's probably brooding over whatever her brother said to him.

"Nothing." He pushes past her roughly on his way back to the kitchen. He doesn't know anything about this guy, except that for some inexplicable reason he's given his baby sister a key to his apartment. How convenient that it happens to be right across the hall from hers. For that reason alone, he doesn't like the guy. "Just sticking up for you, that's all."

She sighs and smacks him on the arm. "I'm a big girl now. I can damn well take care of myself."

"I'll believe it when I see it." He answers sharply. After all, he was the one who had to help her hurry up and move when that jackass ex-husband of hers busted his restraining order.

She grumbles under her breath and starts working the bar again, occasionally making conversation with some of the patrons about the football game.

She loves the game, always has, dating back to when she used to play touch football with her brother and cousins when they were kids. Somewhere along the line, it was decided football was no longer acceptable, and she found herself pushed into more socially acceptable sports. Softball, soccer, field hockey...they were fun, but nothing beat the rush of a good football game.

Finally she finds her way back to the end of the bar, reaching over to swipe an onion ring. He looks up sharply until he sees who it is. "I should have had you test these first. There's a possibility your brother there put a little something in the batter he shouldn't have."

"He'd better not have." She chides him. "I'll kick his ass from here to Trenton."

He rolls his eyes and finishes his bourbon. "No need for that. Although..." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "I've seen you with that baseball bat. I might pay money to see you knock him out."

She laughs and steals one more onion ring before moving back down the bar. Even though her brother drives her nuts with his overprotective behavior, she understands where he's coming from.

This guy's different, though, and she doesn't know what to do to convince her brother otherwise. She supposes only time will tell.

The bar starts to clear out after the football game, leaving only a few hard core regulars hanging out around the pool table. As she cleans up after the rush, she overhears a few of the guys chatting.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. He always hangs out on that stool, always watching her. Kind of creepy, you know?"

"She seems to like him, though. She always stops by and shoots the breeze with him."

She laughs softly at the barroom gossip. If they only knew...no, the guy on the bar stool isn't creepy at all, she wants to tell them. He's a man they all should aspire to be, on some level.

She leans on the bar, nodding her head toward the four guys surrounding the pool table. "They're talking about us."

He rolls his eyes and drains his bourbon. "Sounds like they need to get a life."

"Maybe." She responds. "After all, they're the ones standing around shooting the shit with each other instead of doing something useful."

She turns to take care of a few glasses, washing them up in the small bar sink and hanging them over the bar. One of the pool table guys wanders up to the bar, glancing over at the man seated at the bar. "You need to quit stalking her, man. Either ask her out or quit hanging around here."

The older man gives him a sharp look. "I'm not stalking her. And mind your own damned business."

"Just saying." The bartender turns around to cash out the young man, flashing him a quick smile. "Hey, this guy bothering you? 'Cause I'll take care of him if he is."

She laughs gently as she passes him his receipt. "He's not bothering me. Trust me, if he was, he wouldn't be hanging around here." She shoots the young man a meaningful look.

"Told you." The older man mutters from his stool. He glances up at the bartender. "He thinks I'm stalking you."

"What?" She looks surprised.

"Yeah. How crazy is that?"

The young man shakes his head as he starts to walk away. "Then you two need to just get together already."

The men wrap up their pool game and leave for the night, waving at the bartender on their way out. Their voices carry as they continue their discussion down the street, leaving the two of them at the bar.

She suddenly bursts out laughing. He's alternately fascinated and baffled. "What's so funny?"

"That kid." She's gasping for breath. "Like I can't handle my own business."

"Sometimes you can't." Her brother snaps as he wanders out front to take care of the cash register, fixing the other man with a sharp glare. "Thought I told you to leave her alone."

"Goddammit, he's not bothering me." She speaks sharply, throwing the towel on the bar and walking away. The older man can hear her muttering something about stupid brothers and how they can't mind their own goddamn business.

He snorts as he finishes off his bourbon. "Guess you told me."

"Shut it." Her brother snaps as he slams the register closed, taking the cash drawer with him. "I'm going back to the office. You'd damn well better be gone when I get back."

He sighs as he watches her brother stride back to the office, considering his options. He was hoping to get a little time alone with her tonight, but it doesn't seem to be in the cards. Perhaps it would be better to just leave now rather than cause conflict between her and her brother.

He's just about to slide off his stool when her voice rings out. "Oh no, you don't. You don't get to just disappear."

He twists his mouth and gestures toward the office. "I think he wants me gone."

"It doesn't matter what he wants." She responds as she rounds the end of the bar to meet him at the stool. "It's my place, and if I want you here, then there isn't a damn thing he can do."

He isn't sure he heard her correctly. It sounds like she wants him here. He shrugs and slides down from his stool, towering over her. "You're the boss."

She gives him a wide grin. "That's right, and don't you forget it."

He watches her as she strides back to the kitchen, admiring the view as she does so. He decides that she can boss him around any time she wants to.

It's interesting, the juxtaposition between her strident attitude here and the vulnerability she displayed in the truck just a couple of nights ago. He likes both sides, although he could do without the tears. He's never quite known how to handle crying women.

Then there's the matter of the crazy ex-husband. No telling when he'll show up. It's not a matter of if, he knows, it's when. He's seen enough beat-up women come through the clinic to know that abusive exes never really leave until they're locked up or dead.

She soon returns, bearing a plate loaded with a burger cut in half and a pile of onion rings. There's some other fried item on the side, and his blue eyes light up a little. "Are those mozzarella sticks?"

"Sure are." She grins and sets the plate down between them, settling in on the bar stool beside him. "Sit. Eat. I'll keep him off your back, don't worry."

They sit and eat, falling into an easy conversational groove. She laughs at him when he stretches out the cheese in a long string, frowning ever so slightly when the thing refuses to break.

She hears a loud sigh behind her, and she turns to see her brother there, a resigned expression on his face. "Guess there's no getting rid of you, is there?"

"Nope." The older man answers as he pops the last bit of cheese stick in his mouth.

Her brother nods, lightly grasping his sister's shoulder. "Just know one thing...you so much as look at her funny, I'm hunting your crippled ass down."

"Understood."

"Good." He turns to his sister. "See you tomorrow."

"Good night."

The back door slams shut, leaving the two of them alone in the bar. It's almost too quiet, he thinks, and he hops down from his bar stool to limp over to the jukebox.

He chooses an old Bob Seger song, an passionate, almost romantic number that seems to perfectly describe them. She looks up as the opening piano sequence starts, giving him a questioning look.

"You want to dance?"

A slow smile curls her lips, and she immediately slides off the bar stool to join him in the middle of the small dance floor. She slips her arms around his waist, embracing him gently as he pulls her in close, laying her head on his chest. His large hands spread out over her back as they move in gentle rhythm, the lyrics just now starting to sink in.

_...Still here we are...both of us lonely...longing for shelter...from all that we see..._

Truer words were rarely spoken, and she knows he's trying to send her a message, trying to let the song say what he can't.

_...We've got tonight...who needs tomorrow...we've got tonight, babe...why don't you stay?_

He closes his eyes and holds her close, hoping she understands what he's trying to say. When he first started coming here, he wasn't looking for anyone. He simply felt comfortable here, had from the moment he had parked himself on that bar stool.

Somehow they've managed to connect in bits and pieces over these last couple of months. More than anything else, he wants to keep that going, any way he can. The idea isn't nearly as scary as it used to be.

This has become more than a dance between them, he knows that now. All he can hope is that she might feel the same. Judging by the way she's leaning against him, wrapping her arms a little tighter around him, he thinks there's a possibility.

The song ends, but they remain out on the dance floor, simply holding each other. It's almost as if whatever force that holds them together might dissolve if they let go. Neither one of them wants to take that chance.

He pulls back slightly, and she lifts her head in response. They stare at each other for the longest time, both of them reluctant to make a move.

He opens his mouth as if to say something, but she suddenly stops him with a touch of her fingers to his lips. "Not a word."

He lightly kisses her fingers in response, sending a jolt of electricity through her. She pulls back her hand, and he quickly leans in to press his lips to hers before he has a chance to analyze it.

It starts out slow and sweet and gentle, almost the opposite of the fierceness from the other night. She allows herself to be drawn in, savoring the moment as it unfolds, not entirely sure yet where it will end, but not particularly concerned about it, either.

He presses further, and their tongues meet, easily tangling together as if they had been doing so for years. It all feels so perfect, and it scares her and thrills her at the same time.

He suddenly breaks away, a somber expression overtaking his features as he brushes the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. "I...don't really do one-night stands." He suddenly blurts out. "Unless, you know...that's what I'm paying for." He almost immediately kicks himself for that last bit.

She smiles and laughs anyway, her hands still wrapped around his neck. "Fine with me. I don't either." She tilts her head at him. "You up for another dance?"

He looks thoughtful for a moment before nodding. "Think I could do that."

"Good." She pulls away to wander over to the jukebox, this time choosing an old Foreigner song. He rolls his eyes at her song choice, but soon finds himself drawn in as they fall into rhythm with each other.

The song ends just as his leg starts to throb, and he tries to think of a somewhat graceful way to get off the dance floor, preferably one that still allows him to hold on to her. He spots a chair a short distance away and starts toward it, his hands still around her waist and he takes her with him.

"You know, if you didn't want to dance anymore, you could have just said so." She teases him.

"Not a matter of want." He explains roughly as he drops into a chair and pulls her onto his lap, placing her hand over the gap in his leg. "It's more a matter of can't."

She feels a rush of sympathy as she moves her hand over his leg, feeling the peaks and valleys through his jeans. She squelches it down, knowing he's not looking for sympathy. He's just sharing a simple fact.

He closes his eyes against her touch, finding it oddly soothing. No one's touched him there in years, and he wraps his arms more fully around her waist and pulls her in close, kissing her neck and taking in her soft scent.

She turns slightly, leaning down to take his rough cheeks in her hands, tilting his head up toward her to plant a soft kiss on his lips. "I think it's time for me to go home."

He nods, not sure whether he should be disappointed or relieved. "I probably should, too."

She tilts her head slightly at him. "You could always come home with me."

His eyes go wide, and she's sure she's stepped over that invisible line again. She finds herself holding her breath, waiting for his response.

Finally, after a long moment, he answers her. "If I do this once...I'm probably going to want to do it again."

She smiles widely, slipping off his lap and pulling him to his feet. "Same here."

He smiles ever so slightly, and she loves the way it seems to soften his whole face, giving him an almost boyish look. "I'll follow you. Not like I don't know how to get there."

"I'll lock up and meet you there, then."

He responds with a quick kiss and a hand brushing along her waist before limping back to the counter for his cane and jacket, and then he's gone, the ringing bell over the door the only sign he was there at all.

She takes a deep breath as she shuts off the lights and locks down the place. Suddenly she's excited and nervous, almost giddy with anticipation. Good thing it's a short trip home.

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**Your turn now. Read and review. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Back again with my usual disclaimers. I don't own the guy on the bike, or anything else House-related.**

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She pulls up in front of the building to see him already there, still seated on his bike with his helmet in his hand. He lifts his head, and she can see a slight smile reflected in her headlights.

"You're speedy." She laughs as she climbs out of the truck and closes the short distance between them.

He shrugs, that boyish smile fixed on his face. "Didn't want to waste any time." Truthfully, he rushed over here before he could lose his nerve.

He swings his right leg over the back of his bike and follows her to the door. It's been longer than he cares to remember since he had a legitimate shot at something real. He kind of figures his aborted encounter with the barfly chick doesn't really count.

It's dark and quiet when she unlocks the door, and she quickly flips the switch, bathing the room in soft light. He's sure that she should be able to hear his heart pounding in his chest as she takes off her jacket and toes off her shoes, returning to take his hand.

"So..." She starts, feeling a bit of her earlier boldness leave her. Suddenly she's unsure, thinking that perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all.

His eyes meet hers, studying her, the pure intensity of his stare boring through her. Slowly, he moves one hand to wrap around the back of her neck, pulling her toward him while leaning in to press his lips to hers.

It's sweet, tender, and intense, all at the same time, and she feels a lot more sure that this was the right move after all. She's protected herself for far too long, and she can already feel the walls crumbling. If she's honest with herself, those walls have been falling for a long time without her being fully aware of it.

She presses further, leaning into him and sliding her arms around his waist and slipping her tongue into his mouth. He responds almost instantly, one hand moving to spread out across the small of her back while the other grips her neck a little more firmly, his tongue quickly darting out to meet hers.

He wants this so much that it's overwhelming him, a myriad of emotions coursing through him as he pulls her close, her soft body pressed against his. Finally he breaks the kiss, and he notes that they're both breathing heavily in its wake.

He lightly strokes her cheek with a thumb, studying her face once again. Her lips are parted, her eyes at half mast as she lifts them just enough to look up at him. The soft expression that greets him somehow unlocks something in him. He's just not sure what that something is.

His hand moves from her cheek to her lips, his fingers brushing along them as he debates with himself. While he knows they had made it clear that neither one of them were into one night stands, he can't help but wonder if that's what this will become. Either that, or it will only be physical, any emotional connection they have started to build shoved aside. He's not sure he could handle that now.

"Something wrong?" Her soft voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

He freezes, not sure how to respond. He's not so good with sharing his _feelings_. Feelings are intangible, fleeting, impossible to define. Instead he blurts out the first thought that comes to mind. "I'm not just here to get laid."

She looks amused. "I know that."

He can feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he tries to better explain himself. "I mean, obviously I'm not opposed to that, but...I want..._more._" This is unfamiliar territory for him, this business of practically baring his soul. Being physically naked would almost be easier for him right now.

She places her hand on his cheek, stroking the scruff with her thumb. "I didn't invite you back here for a quick hook up." His open and vulnerable expression touches her, and she realizes he's just as scared as she is. There's something oddly comforting about that. She moves her hand to the back of his neck to pull him down to her, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "If I didn't think there could be more...you wouldn't be here, understand?"

He nods almost imperceptibly, lightly stroking her waist with his thumb in an almost nervous motion. They're on the same page, more or less, but he's still scared to make that move, the move that he knows will change everything.

The stakes have been raised for them, he knows that, and he doesn't want to do anything that might screw up what is just beginning to grow between them. He feels something more for her now, even if he's not clear on what that something might be. It's something he hasn't felt in so long that he doesn't recognize it.

He huffs in frustration and quickly pulls her to him, nearly smothering her against his chest. She takes in his uniquely masculine scent, equally enticed and comforted by it. It makes her want him even more, and she presses a firm kiss to the center of his chest, right above the last button on his shirt, the material of his t-shirt soft against her lips.

She hears his breath catch at the unexpected move, and his hands start to move up and down her back. Finally, almost tentatively, one hand slips under her shirt and starts to stroke her back. His hand is surprisingly smooth against her skin, and she lets out a small involuntary gasp.

She pulls back ever so slightly, noting the uncertain expression that crosses his face. He looks as if he's about to say something, but she reaches up to kiss him. "Just go with it." She whispers softly as she starts to unbutton his shirt. "You can always analyze it to death later."

He wants to, almost desperately. His analytical mind is working overtime on this one, trying to figure this thing out from every possible angle. Finally, when he feels her soft hands running over the wiry hair on his stomach and chest, he gives up. She's here, she's real, and he's enjoying her touch to worry too much about what the aftermath might bring.

His other hand slides under her shirt, reveling in the feel of her petal-soft skin and the strong muscle underneath before moving upward to find the clasp of her bra. With one quick move, it's undone, and he moves his hands around to take the soft flesh in his hands, brushing over the nipples with his thumbs.

He leans down to kiss her neck as she sighs softly, her hands still moving around under his t-shirt. Just as he's thinking to himself how hot it would be to simply take her down to the floor and have her right there, he realizes that they're moving. She's guiding him forward, toward the hallway to what he assumes is her bedroom.

It's a much better plan, he thinks as they cross over the threshold and into the room. He finds her mouth again, fiercely pressing his lips to hers while she pushes his button down shirt off his body and starts working his belt buckle.

Even though she's felt the scar through the layers of material he covers himself with, completely exposing it is a different story, and he stills her with his hand. No words are necessary to convey the message.

She slips her hands under his t-shirt again, feeling the strength of his muscle and the warmth of his skin. He moans softly under her touch, all the while still caressing her under her shirt, losing himself in her softness.

He steps forward, gently pushing her backwards toward the bed, and she lands with a soft thump. She scoots over to make room for him, and he soon joins her, laying beside her while working the button on her jeans.

She rolls away briefly to turn on the bedside lamp, and the room is bathed in low level light. He's grateful for the limited light. It's just enough for him to see her in her full soon to be naked glory, but not so much that she'll be able to see the full extent of the damage to his leg.

He catches her just before she rolls back to him, keeping her on her back as he pushes up her shirt to expose the creamy skin underneath. While he leans over her to plant a series of soft kisses over her stomach, she removes her shirt and drops it over the side of the bed, returning to stroke the top of his head as he continues moving upward.

Her already unfastened bra is the next thing to go, easily jettisoned as he takes a nipple in his mouth and lazily works his tongue over it in a circular motion while his hand moves down to her unbuttoned jeans.

He unzips her jeans and places his hand just inside, pressing on her core over her underwear, and he can already feel her growing desire through them. He rubs lightly, just enough to garner a soft moan from her, and she arches into his hand.

She pushes down her jeans, allowing him better access to her, and he takes full advantage, slipping his hand inside her underwear and spreading the folds of skin, slowly stroking her with one finger while leaving a trail of kisses down her stomach.

She shivers under the multiple sources of stimulation, grabbing at his t-shirt and tugging it off him as he works his way down. His eyes are on her all the time, watching for her reactions, and she can see the skin around them crinkle in something like a smile as her breathing changes under his ministrations.

He's an attentive lover, although she's hardly surprised to find that out. It's as if he wants nothing more that to bring her pleasure, and he's certainly doing that. Even though he's moving at almost an agonizingly slow pace, she finds that she's enjoying every bit of it.

He moves so that he's between her legs, his eyes still watching her as he pushes her underwear down and off her body, along with her jeans. She's fully exposed to him now, and she's nothing short of beautiful.

She spreads herself before him, and he runs his hands along the inside of her thighs, evoking a soft, shaky sigh. He leans down, brushing his lips against the hair that surrounds her center before spreading the folds with his fingers and delicately dragging his tongue along the tender flesh in between.

She gasps sharply, arching upward and grabbing the back of his head. Further encouraged, he starts moving his tongue all over. It's almost as if he were kissing her lips, but the sensation is entirely different and wonderful.

He slips one finger inside her, then two, gently exploring inside, and the multiple sensations combine to heighten her desire. She can't even speak, hoping that the gasps and moans that she can't seem to control are sufficient to communicate her pleasure.

She feels herself getting closer to the edge, and he speeds up both tongue and fingers until she goes over, the sensation coursing through her until she finally relaxes, stroking his head with a soft sigh.

He pulls his fingers out of her, placing a gentle kiss just above her center before coming to rest his head on her stomach. It's been a long time since he's given that sort of pleasure to a woman, and he's nearly as spent as she is.

"Hey." Her soft voice, still husky with desire, breaks into his thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"Yep." He answers, his voice nearly as soft. "Just taking a break."

She giggles, an almost girlish sound, and strokes the top of his head. He lifts his head and frowns slightly. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, really. Just..." She has a hard time trying to put her thoughts into words. So far, things are going even better than she hoped. "You've got skills. Anyone ever tell you that?"

He chuckles, a low sound that she's not sure she's heard from him before, and she can feel him smile against her stomach. Finally he pushes himself off of her and moves to lay down beside her, wrapping an arm around her and pressing a firm kiss to her lips. He pushes his tongue forward, almost lazily exploring her mouth, simply enjoying the feel of her naked form pressed against him, the long forgotten feel of skin against skin.

She deepens the kiss, rolling them both over until she straddles him, breaking away to work her way down his body. A multitude of soft sounds escape his lips as she kisses him all the way down to his unbuckled jeans, the same place he had stopped her before.

It's then she realizes what the issue is. He doesn't want her to see what is hidden underneath, somehow thinking it would drive her away. She wishes he would understand that her attraction to him goes beyond the physical, and that she wouldn't be here if she didn't like him as a human being.

He tenses a little as she moves to finish the job she started earlier, and she bends down to kiss him just above his waist. "Relax, will you?"

He lifts her chin with a finger, a serious expression crossing his face. "It's not pretty, just so you know."

She shifts so that she's on her knees between his legs, her hands moving over his lower body. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

He seems to reluctantly acquiesce, twisting his mouth and averting his eyes. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

She nods, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans and slipping them off his body. He quietly watches her, one arm under his head and the other across his stomach, waiting for her reaction.

"You look pretty good so far." She smiles and keeps moving downward, and is rewarded with just a ghost of a smile. It's the truth. He looks better that she had imagined he would. His rumpled layers of clothing had certainly kept him well hidden. She feels that she's being let in on a secret few people have ever known, and it's not a secret she wants to share anytime soon.

She takes hold of the waist of his boxers, and he sucks in a sharp breath, unsure of how she will react to the ragged mess that makes up his right thigh. If she doesn't run away screaming, he'll be pleasantly surprised.

He was wrong earlier. This full physical exposure is far harder on him that he thought it would be. She tilts her head curiously, tracing the outline of the scar with one finger before smoothing along it with her open palm.

"It's not so horrible." She observes. "It's not pretty, but...it's not awful."

He rolls his eyes in an attempt to hide his relief at her reaction. "Glad you approve."

She laughs and leans over him, shifting so that she straddles him again. "Don't get so hung up on this one thing. The rest of you more than makes up for it...and I don't just mean the physical part."

He's overwhelmed by her words, and he roughly pulls her in by the nape of her neck for a long kiss, wrapping his other arm around her so that they're pressed together. The contact feels so good between them that he almost doesn't want to let her go.

They slowly break apart, and she starts moving down his body again, kissing him all the way down while caressing him with her hands. The sensation is almost more than he can take, and he realizes just how long it's been since another woman has touched him this way. Too damned long, by his estimation. His brief encounter with the woman at Mayfield doesn't count in that sense. This is far different.

Before he knows it, she's caressing his legs, including the scarred section, as if it's all perfectly normal to touch someone with a gaping hole in his leg. Maybe it can be, in time. He doesn't bother analyzing it right this moment. He loses himself in her touch as she runs her tongue along his length before taking him into her mouth and bringing him to full hardness.

He can't remember the last time anyone did that for him, either, and he lets out a low moan at the feel of her mouth wrapped around him, her tongue wandering all over. As good as it feels, he wants her up here with him, and he tugs at her to communicate his desire.

She returns to straddle him, leaning over him to give him a firm kiss. "Are you covered?"

"Hand me my jeans and I will be."

She stretches back to find his jeans, and he admires her graceful form as she hands them to her. He finds his wallet and digs around, finding the condom tucked deep inside before tossing both items aside.

She giggles and takes it from him, opening it and shifting so that she can roll it on him before returning to lean over him. "How very high school of you."

He half-smiles at her, taking her breasts in his hands and caressing lightly. "Always good to be prepared. Never know when you'll meet some hot woman and...you know."

She lets out a hum of pleasure and arches her back at his touch. "So you think I'm hot, huh?"

He moves his hands to her back and runs them up and down, coming to rest of her backside. "Very."

She leans in to press a hard kiss to his lips. "That make two of us."

He grins and quickly rolls her over to her back, moving to enter her, and he's soon rocking in a slow, teasing rhythm. She sighs and wraps her arms and legs around him, arching upward for maximum contact.

He braces his hands on either side of her, leaning in to take in her soft scent, kissing her along her neck and shoulder as he pumps into her, speeding up as he gets closer to the edge. By the way she's tensing around him, she's getting close, too.

He manages to hold off just long enough to watch her as she goes over, a soft gasp escaping her as she arches her body, relaxing with a long sigh. He's not far behind, burying his face in her shoulder as he releases, resting his cheek against her shoulder with a shaky sigh.

A chill goes through him as their bodies start to cool, and he knows he'll have to move soon. He's not sure if he should stay or go, though every instinct is telling him to stay. It comes a surprise to him, but not that much of a surprise. The something that has been building between them for months seems to have culminated in this moment, and he wants nothing more than to lay beside her and hold her close while they sleep.

"Need you to move, babe." She murmurs, and he wonders if she realizes what she just said.

He smirks a little as he rolls off her, disposing of the condom and watching her stretch with cat-like grace. "You called me 'babe'."

"I know." She smirks back as she leans down to give him a kiss. "You okay with that?"

He shrugs. "I've been called worse." Secretly, he kind of likes the endearment. He reaches out to take her hand. "Yeah, I'm okay with that."

"Good." She smiles, a genuine smile this time, and he melts a little. No, he melts a _lot_. He's a human puddle in the middle of her bed, and he doesn't want to move for anything.

She curls up next to him and pulls the covers over them as he wraps an arm around her. He feels something more for her now, and he wants to tell her, but he doesn't want to ruin this moment. If he still feels the same when he wakes up, he'll tell her then.

She hears his breathing even out, and he starts snoring softly as he falls asleep. Something has changed tonight, definitely for the better. She feels something for him that she hasn't allowed herself to feel in years. Whether that's love or something else, she's not sure. Either way, it's a very good thing.

It's just as well that he's fallen asleep. The events that have transpired have ended just as they should have, and she has no desire to push too far and ruin it. There will be plenty of time for talking when they wake up.

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**You know what to do from here. Read and review.**


	8. Chapter 8

**You know the drill. I do not own the sexy man in the bed (how cool would it be if I did?!).**

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He's still sleeping when she wakes up a few hours later. She takes a moment to admire his still naked form sprawled out in her bed before slipping away to start the coffeemaker.

She wonders where things between them will go from here. It seemed like a natural progression, certainly, and it was beyond enjoyable, most definitely. As she starts the coffeemaker and finds a pair of mugs, she worries that things will be awkward. It's the last thing she wants.

She hears a distinctive step-thump behind her, and she turns to see him standing in her kitchen. He's barefoot, wearing last night's t-shirt and jeans and leaning on his cane, a sleepy expression on his face. Her heart flips a little at the sight of him.

"Morning." She flashes him a warm smile. "Do you want coffee?"

He nods, and she steps aside to allow him access to the coffeemaker. "You have sugar somewhere?"

She pulls a bag down from the cabinet and hands it to him. Even his voice has that sleepy tone to it, and it just makes him that much sexier to her.

He fishes a spoon out of the dish drainer, digging into the sugar bag and dumping two spoonfuls into his coffee mug, stirring and taking a quick sip. It's good, strong and sweet, and he can feel himself come to life a little bit.

He can feel her eyes on him, and he slowly turns his head toward her. "Something wrong?"

"No." She looks him up and down while sipping at her own mug. "Just...admiring the view."

He rolls his eyes, even as an amused expression crosses his face. "Think something might be wrong with your eyes. You might want to get them checked out."

"I don't think so." She answers softly, setting down her coffee and moving toward him.

His heart starts beating a little quicker as she approaches, and he's admiring the view himself. Her hair is tousled from sleep, and her t-shirt clings gently to the curves he now knows lay just beneath. Her bare feet just barely peek out from underneath her pajama pants. She's just as beautiful now as she was last night, possibly more so.

He almost automatically reaches out to place a hand on her waist when she comes within reach, and he slides his hand to the small of her back to pull her in close. A soft sigh escapes them both as she wraps her arms around him and squeezes him.

Suddenly his coffee is the furthest thing from his mind. Her scent drifts into his nostrils, and he wraps his other arm around her, spreading his hands out over her back. He can't explain what he's feeling right now. All he knows is that she just feels right in his arms, and he doesn't want to let her go.

He kisses the top of her head, lightly stroking her back, overwhelmed by what he's starting to feel for her. It goes beyond the physical, although that certainly plays into it. "I warned you."

"About what?"

He takes a deep breath before answering her. "I told you that if I did this once..."

"...you'd want to do it again." She finishes for him. "I'm aware of that." She pushes herself up on tiptoe to leave a light kiss on his neck.

He gasps a little, and she can feel him start to react against her. "Don't tease." He tells her roughly.

"Wouldn't dare."

He nods slowly, still studying her, and it's clear that he's still a little unsure. She steps back a little, lightly rubbing his back in almost a comforting motion. "Nothing's changed, you know." She tells him firmly.

"_Everything's_ changed." He responds, as she realizes this is what's holding him back. He's scared of what comes next, and she can't blame him. She's not fond of uncertainty herself.

She pushes herself up on tiptoe to plant a soft kiss on his lips, meeting his eyes with her own. "That could be a very good thing."

He sighs and glances away for a moment before returning to meet her gaze again. "I don't just want a _thing_." It's been too long since he's felt anything for anyone, and he doesn't see the point in progressing things if she doesn't feel the same. He's been burned far too many times for him to take that chance again.

The passionate, almost desperate tone in his voice touches her. It's obvious he wants this as badly as she does. She reaches up to touch his face, placing her palm against his rough cheek, and he seems to lean into her touch, closing those stunning blue eyes as he does so. "We're already more than a thing. Don't you realize that?"

She makes a good point, and he internally sighs in relief. They've been connecting with each other for months, when he stops to think about it. Suddenly this seems like a natural progression, and he finally decides to just go with it.

He covers her hand with his own, turning toward it to place a kiss in the palm before releasing it, leaning forward to press his lips to hers. She deepens the kiss, slipping her hand to the back of his neck to draw him closer, gently encouraging him.

They slowly break apart, and she notices his almost child-like expression. It's a mixture of wonder and fascination, and in her mind, it's beautiful. He reaches up to stroke her cheek, a faint smile gracing his rough features.

"I think we need to go back to bed." He finally comments. "What do you say?"

"I like that idea." She smiles widely at his sudden boldness.

Once in the bedroom again, they quickly strip down, all too eager to indulge in the sensation of skin on skin. She shivers slightly at the feel of his hand roaming all over her, his lips not far behind as he explores every inch of her, finally moving so that he's on top of her, wrapping himself around her for maximum contact.

It occurs to him that this is what he's missed for so long, this simple human contact that goes beyond the bedroom. He kisses her face and neck, allowing himself to get carried away by her scent, her touch, her everything.

He works his way down, leaving a moist trail of kisses down her chest and stomach, burying himself in the softness of her core. His tongue darts out, catching her by surprise, and she lets out a small gasp as she spreads herself before him.

He pushes further, clamping his lips over her and wrapping his arms around he waist, working over her with his tongue as she moans and squirms under him. She's close, he can tell, and he speeds up the action until she goes over the edge, arching upward and crying out in pleasure.

He leaves her with a brief kiss and moves back up to lay beside her, and she kisses him hard before pushing him over onto his back. He's alternately surprised and thrilled by the move, watching her as she moves down his body, brushing her lips and hands over him as she goes.

Suddenly she's between his legs, leaving little kisses all over, teasing him into arousal. She takes him in her hand and runs her tongue from the base to the tip before taking him into her mouth. Soft sounds of pleasure escape him as she gently works her tongue and lips all over, and he reaches down to roughly caress the top of her head.

The sensation seems to go on and on until he can contain himself no more, and he unloads forcefully, taking a handful of her hair as the sensation rocks through him, finally relaxing with a long sigh. She scoots back up to lay next to him, one leg thrown over his as she drags the covers over both of them.

A million thoughts run through his head as they lay together, none of them cohesive. One thing is clear, however. He's right where he wants to be, and there's no one else that he wants. If only he could just stay here, just like this. Things might just be...well, if not perfect, then damn good.

He kisses the top of her head, and she shifts against him, curling closer. He doesn't want to break the silence, but he also doesn't want to let this opportunity pass by.

"Hey." He murmurs into her hair.

"Yeah?" She answers back, her voice soft with sleep.

His heart is thumping in his chest, but he charges forth anyway. "I think...we're starting something good here."

She laughs softly. "I could have told you that. Actually, I'm pretty sure I did."

He rolls his eyes. She doesn't realize how difficult this is for him. "I want...to keep it going. What do you say?"

She lifts her head, a wide smile lighting her face. "I say...yes." She kisses him lightly. "So now what?"

"Damned if I know." He shrugs and laughs a little. "Guess we'll figure it out as we go. As long as I get to keep doing this...I won't worry much about the rest."

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Works for me."

His phone starts singing "Baby Got Back", muffled in his jeans pocket, and he rolls away to answer it. "Yeah?" He checks his watch, muttering a soft curse. "I'm on my way. Keep your shirt on...or not. Doesn't matter to me."

He snaps it shut and tosses it aside, pulling her to him for one more kiss. "I hate it when reality intrudes. Guess I'll go do that work thing that they pay me for."

"Good plan." She laughs. "So I'll see you later?"

"Definitely." He grins, lighting up his whole face. "Save some onion rings for me."

He dresses and leaves, and she lingers in the bed for just a little while longer, smiling as she goes over the events of the morning. It hasn't turned out like she expected. If anything, it's turned out better.

She decides to take his philosophy on things. If he's not going to worry, she won't either. Life's too short for all that. Far better to enjoy this thing that's growing between them, and take the journey one day at a time.

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**Your turn now. Read and review.**


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm wrapping up this bad boy, too. Thanks to all of you who have reviewed, favorited, and added to your alerts. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. As usual, I don't own 'em.**

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It's another Saturday night, and the band is already rocking the place when he pushes through the door, his friend right behind him. The place is crowded, as he expected, and he pushes his way through the crowd until he finds a table near the front with two empty chairs.

"What are we doing here?" His friend asks him, looking around the bar. At first glance, it's sort of a rough and dark place, not the sort of place he would choose to hang out. He can see why his older friend likes it. It's got that sort of dangerous vibe that he seems to live for.

"Just sit and enjoy." He eases himself into a chair and motions for his friend to do the same.

The waitress stops by their table, flashing him a quick smile and setting a bourbon down in front of him before turning to his friend. "What'll you have?"

The other man orders a beer and the waitress briskly walks away, noting how handsome he is. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a sweet smile that makes those dark eyes crinkle. She'll make sure to provide him with excellent service tonight.

She soon returns with his beer, fixing him with a flirtatious smile. "Anything else, guys?"

"I think we're good." The blue-eyed man fixes her with a sharp look, and she quickly moves to the next table.

"You didn't have to do that." His friend chastises him. "She seems like a perfectly nice girl."

"Exactly." He responds. "I was saving you. Besides, she flirts with everybody. Now shut up. The band's playing."

His friend shakes his head and drinks his beer. For some reason his friend was especially insistent on dragging him out here tonight. Ever since he had moved back to his own apartment a couple of months prior, they hadn't had a lot of time to just hang out with each other, so he figured he'd just roll with it. If he had known they would wind up in this dive, he's not so sure he would have joined him.

The band continues its set, and he has to admit, they're pretty good, especially the woman at the piano. By the time they've finished their first set, he's into his second beer and having a pretty good time. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

The set break is brief, but he catches his friend's movements out of the corner of his eye. He seems to be..._flirting_ with the piano player. He's not sure what that's about, as he's never witnessed that behavior before.

They settle back into their seats, and the music starts again before he can ask his friend what's going on. The band launches into a series of cover songs, mostly older rock, and he can understand the appeal of the music. The crowd is clearly into it, singing along as the lead singer encourages full audience participation.

The band starts its last song, a simple piano opening, and he swears that his friend's eyes light up. He knows he spots a slow smile creeping across the man's face. The woman starts singing, a strong, pure alto, and he's suddenly transfixed as she gets deeper into the song.

"We've got tonight..." She sings. "Who needs tomorrow? We've got tonight, babe...why don't you stay?"

The crowd cheers as the song moves into its final crescendo and eases into the ending, the notes of the piano dying as she holds the last note, finally cutting it off with a final chord on the piano.

The lights come up over the bar, and the bartender rings a bell loudly. "Last call! You don't have to go home, but...you've got to get the hell out of here!" He bellows to the boos and cat calls of the crowd. He simply rolls his eyes and starts filling drink orders, ignoring all the grumbling that accompanies any last call.

The waitress brings out a huge basket of onion rings and sets them in the middle of their table. His friend immediately reaches for one, gesturing for him to do the same. He's munching away when he notices the piano player casually saunter up behind his friend and kiss the top of his head. "Hey, babe." She wraps her arms over his shoulders, and his friend responds by gently placing his hands over hers in a gesture of affection. "How'd we do?"

"Excellent, as always." His friend grins and moves a hand to the back of her neck, pulling her down for a quick kiss. "Got someone I'd like you to meet."

"Really." She sits down at the table and snags an onion ring.

"Yep." His friend gestures to him. "Tricia, this is the nagging pain in the ass known as James Wilson, also known as my best friend." He glances over at him, dropping an arm around her. "Wilson, this is my...girlfriend, Tricia Meyers."

"Girlfriend?" He's incredulous as he extends a hand to the smiling woman. "Since when?"

His friend looks thoughtful, tilting his head to one side. "Uh...four or five months now."

He shakes his head. "I should have known something was up when you were bellowing at your team a little quieter than normal." He turns to look at the woman. "Do you have any idea what a good mood this guy's been in? You're nearly ruining his rep."

"Good." She laughs heartily, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. "Sounds like it needed ruining."

"Trust me, it did." He rises from his chair, draining his beer and setting it on the table. "Good to meet you." He turned briefly toward his friend. "I can't believe you kept this from me. You're unbelievable."

"I'll take that as a compliment." His friend grins and lifts his bourbon in salute. "See you around, Wilson."

"Good night, House. Tricia."

He leaves the bar, and she smiles and slides into his lap. "You just now told him about us?"

"Yep." He answers firmly, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Didn't want to jinx anything."

"If we've managed not to screw things up too badly after all this time..."

"Yeah, yeah." He rolls his eyes and holds her close, taking in her scent and nuzzling her neck. "Meet you at my place?"

"I'll be there." She answers, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. "Just got a few loose ends to tie up."

He snags one more onion ring on his way out to his car. The late winter thaw-and-freeze cycle has left piles of slush and huge puddles, and he carefully picks his way through the mess before climbing into his car. As he starts the old beast, he reflects on the changes these last few months have brought to his life.

This woman has become a neighbor, a friend, a lover. He still has trouble with the idea that she wants to be around him, but his attitude is slowly changing. Even his team has noticed the change. While he still retains the snark and lack of patience with the majority of the human race, he has mellowed a good deal, and he rarely sends his team running for cover with his temper.

He parks in front of his building and makes his way up the couple of steps to let himself in. She should be here soon, and he knows she'll want to kick back with a beer or two before moving on to the bedroom. It's become their Saturday night ritual, and he's become quite comfortable with this routine.

The door opens, revealing her. The cold air has reddened her cheeks, and she brushes a few stray blonde hairs back into place. She's let it grow out again, and it's almost as long now as it was when they first danced together.

She hangs up her coat and toes off her shoes, greeting him with that bright, beautiful smile. The sight still makes him melt inside, not that he'd ever admit it publicly. She knows her effect on him, and that's enough.

"Hey, babe." She pushes herself up on tiptoe to give him a kiss.

"Hey, yourself." He returns the kiss, a slight smile gracing his weathered features. "Got your beer."

"Mmm..." She looks thoughtful, wrapping her arms around him. "I was thinking we could skip the beer tonight."

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Not that I'm complaining, but...any special reason?"

"Nope." Her hands find their way up the back of his shirt. They're cold at first, but they quickly warm up as she spreads them out across his lower back.

"Good enough for me." He murmurs, reveling in the feel of her soft hands over his skin.

They make their way to the bedroom, slowly peeling bits of clothing off each other until there's nothing but skin between them. He nudges her toward the bed, letting her legs hang over the edge while he eases himself to his knees in front of her.

He smooths his hands along the soft skin of her inner thighs, and he can hear her sigh quietly as she spreads her legs a little further. He takes full advantage, starting a trail of kisses from the inside of her knee up to her center while his hand travels the same path on the other, meeting in the middle.

She murmurs in pleasure as he plays with her with his fingers, his other hand wandering over her stomach, making its way up to her breast and finding a nipple. She gasps slightly when he gives it a light pinch and rolls it around in his fingers.

In one quick move, he spreads the folds of skin with his fingers, letting them slide inside while he traces his tongue over her, evoking a symphony of soft sounds from her. She arches into him, stroking the back of his head as he alternates the tempo, bringing her just to the edge before backing off, over and over again.

He moves his fingers inside her as he lightly sucks her, his tongue beating a quick tattoo against her sensitive flesh. It's her undoing, and she cries out, clutching the back of his head as she goes over, coming down with a heavy sigh.

He grins almost wolfishly as he kisses his way up her stomach, climbing on the bed to lay beside her and capturing her lips in a long, firm kiss. She wraps herself around him and pushes him onto his back, straddling him as she kisses him along his rough jaw, making his way down his neck.

She kisses and touches him all over, and he's enjoying ever bit of it. He's sure he can never get enough of her touch, and he would almost forgo the sex itself if it meant she would never stop _this_.

She shifts slightly so that she's beside him, and she takes him in her hand to bring him to full hardness. Now that he's older, it takes a little longer to get the engine going, but she doesn't seem to mind. Matter of fact, she seems to enjoy it almost as much as he does. Getting older does seem to have a few advantages that he hadn't considered before.

Before long he's there, and she finds a condom, rolling it over him before straddling him once again. She starts slowly, bracing her hands on either side of him as they find their rhythm, and he spreads his hands along her back, his rhythm matching hers stroke for stroke.

He's getting close, and he pulls her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her as he goes over, growling as he rides it out, relaxing with a low groan. He doesn't say anything at first, simply holding her close and stroking her hair with one hand while leaving the other on her lower back.

They finally separate, rearranging themselves so that they lay side by side in his large bed. She curls up beside him with her head on his chest, listening to the strong, steady thump of his heart as he tugs the covers over them. She thinks there's a possibility that she wants to do this forever, and the thought catches her by surprise.

He glances down at her when he hears her girlish giggle. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." She answers, not sure she wants to express what's on her mind. Things are so good between them that she doesn't want to do anything to upset that balance. "Just...I..." She finally decides to just go for it. Whatever happens, happens. "I think I love you."

She hears his heartbeat speed up, and he pulls her a little closer, kissing the top of her head. "Well...I _know_ I love you."

She lifts her head, completely surprised by his words. "Really?"

He rolls his eyes and chuckles. "Don't sound so surprised."

"It's not that." She lays back down on his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist. "It's just that...you know, you've never said it."

"You need me to say it?" He answers, a teasing tone creeping into his voice. "Fine. I love you. I want you in my life for as long as you'll have me. I'm not talking marriage or shacking up or anything crazy like that, I just...yeah." He sighs, a little surprised at the words that have spilled out of him. "How's that?"

"That sounds good to me." She laughs and settles in on his chest, warm and comfortable.

"Good." He shifts slightly and closes his eyes, relieved that his uncharacteristically passionate words weren't rejected. His mind starts to drift as he falls asleep. He thinks that maybe, someday, if she's still around...

He chuckles ever so slightly as he hears her breathing even out, and he knows she's fallen asleep. Things are damn good as they are. No sense getting too far ahead of himself. As long as she's here with him, it doesn't matter what happens next. He'll take this for as long as he can have it. From the looks of things, that could be a good long time. That's good enough for him.

**THE END**

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**Back to you, dear readers. Read and review.**


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